


WIP Dump

by Dark Automaton (0Dark_Automaton0)



Category: Homestuck, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Politics, Blood and Gore, Dark Comedy, God Tier, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Temporary Character Death, WIP dump, eldritch magic, freaky magic shenanigans, might finish this/these later, unfinished work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-02-17 19:33:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13083867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Dark_Automaton0/pseuds/Dark%20Automaton
Summary: A catalog of my unfinished works, which I decided to start saving here instead of deleting them like I usually do. Might finish these into something readable later on.WIP 1: Seers and Their ProheciesA young Galran struggles with urges of rebellion.





	1. Seers and Their Prophecies

_“Rose.”_

_“Rose, you can't keep doing this.”_

_“Why do you insist on running off on these...”_

_“Adventures?”_

_“Alone?”_

_“You have us.”_

_“Let us help you.”_

_“The Game isn't here anymore.”_

_“Paradox Space doesn't control us anymore.”_

_“Please.”_

_“Come home.”_

Not now. Not when you're so close...

 

* * *

 

“Rhazi? Rhazeen?”

 

You open your eyes. The sight of your barren room, save for the boxes containing your somewhat sparse belongings, greets you as you sit up and rub the slumber from your eyes. It takes you a moment to recall that today is Moving Day.

Your guardian stands at the doorway; no doubt he had to wake you up himself after your alarm failed once again to pull you from the dark depths of sleep. Yamar, a Galran that would most accurately be described as the fuzzy purple lovechild of Paul Blart mall cop and the father of American poetry Walt Whitman - if you knew who either of these strange polynomial characters were - is a very attentive father. Good thing, too; if he weren't there to remind you, you would forget to even go to bed at a decent hour.

“Rhazeen, we need to put all these in the pod and go.” He gestures to the boxes, and you nod an affirmative. You're just a little too sleepy to talk right now, and he takes the nonverbal response for an answer, leaving you to your packing.

You quickly begin your daily routine, not wanting to waste too much time. You take a quick wash and dress, attempting to get your short, fine fur into something resembling presentable as you go.

You feel the urge to take in your current appearance, but resist on grounds that that is incredibly stupid. Why go on about your countenance at a time like this? You have better things to do.

 

* * *

 

You sit in the shotgun seat of the moving pod, staring listlessly into space. Your father had been reassigned to a station closer to Central Command, which is quite the honor for a mere technician. Some part of you was wary of getting so close to the Emperor's inner sanctum, though you brush it off as excitement.

You reassure yourself: It's not as if you're going into his majesty's ship. _But aren't you?_ You shake your head of the silly thought. You always had these odd yearnings of rebellion and destruction. You've never brought them up to your father, for he would surely worry for your sanity and perhaps send you off to be tested. Only misery awaited those who openly considered rebellion.

The void of space is awfully busy, you notice. Stars and celestial dust line the space between planets and ships like garlands at a festival, glittering yet almost gaudy. Something about its sheer occupation feels wrong, as if space should be as black and lifeless as the void is supposed to be. The reason it's called the void is because it is empty, is it not?

Esoteric knowledge of aspects of reality seem to be your forte as of late, as is your knowledge of the works of the long dead poet/prophet Jasnoitz. Her books on the importance of perception in the structure of reality bend brains like tongue twisters to most, but not you. Of course, you would never admit to your fascination with her, not because of any girlish crush that you may or may not have, but due to her less than respected reputation.

Back in the days when the Empire was new, Jasnoitz had been seen as the messiah of a new religion among the lost and restless citizens. The gods were many in numbers, and the religion sought the acceptance of other species as part of the Empire, in order to strengthen the new Galra and heal from the loss of Daibazaal. Her teachings ushered in competition for the other growing cult of the Galra, the High Priestess' Order of the Druids. The High Priestess, seeing her as a threat to the stability of the Empire, had her executed for conspiracy against the Emperor.

Modern followers worship in secret, you know. Her beliefs and teachings are now held in low regard as the writings of a madwoman who smoked a little too much root, and the only respected part of her legacy is her writings of romance.

 


	2. Blood Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >Karkat: Ascend

“Fucking shoot me already!” Karkat yelled.

“No!” Acxa yelled back, appalled, still aiming her pistol at him.

“Acxa, he isn’t going to stay dead,” Jade said, placing a hand on her hip.

“None of you told us we’d be required to kill him,” Ezor said.

“What part of ‘sacrificial slab’ do you not understand?” Karkat asked, slapping his hands to his burning face, “To go God Tier, someone’s gotta die.”

“But why you?” Acxa asked, “Why not some animal or something?”

“That’s not how that works!”

“I’m not shooting you.”

“This stopped being funny forever ago, Karkat,” Zethrid said, her laughter dying into an uneasy chuckle, “Seriously, knock it off.”

“Zethrid, he’s serious,” Jade said, exasperated, “To go God Tier, you have to either die on the slab or have your fresh corpse put on the slab. Either way, there’s death involved.”

“That’s messed up,” Zethrid said, “Damn it, I was even beginning to like you guys!”

“And you’ll be able to keep liking us guys after I get my magic pajamas, let’s go!”

Suddenly, his chest burst forward in a spray of blood and gore, hitting the former Generals with the viscera. Acxa was frozen solid in sheer horror, while Zethrid screamed and Ezor sputtered. The body, now with a substantial hole in its torso, fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“OH GOD IT’S IN MY MOUTH,” Ezor yelled, spitting frantically and trying to brush the bright cherry red blood off of her, only serving to smear it on her armor.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Zethrid screamed, and the perpetrator grinned.

“That was for sticking me in the Ulippa system and getting me imprisoned by that fucking witch!” Throk said, laughing, lowering his lazer rifle.

As the blood red platform glowed and the wind picked up, all Acxa could think about was how she couldn’t do it herself. Jade piped up,

“Guys, you might want to step back a little. Risings tend to blow people back at least a few meters and I think we’ve got enough blood spilled today!”

As the trio, the exile, and the goddess backed up towards the door of the chamber, Zethrid whirled around to confront Throk,

“Okay, what the FUCK was that?!”

“A friend of hers,” Throk gestured at Jade with his gun, “Told me that my services were needed here to help another friend of theirs ascend.”

“Rose?” Jade hazarded a guess, and Throk said,

“If you mean the girl with the purple eyes and white hair, yes.”

“Figures,” Jade huffed, “She could have just told me Acxa would chicken out.”

“I did not chicken out,” Acxa argued.

“Look, Acxa,” Jade said gently, “I can understand not wanting to shoot your buddies, but you’ve got to be a little more trusting with us. We don’t lie about the magic or the monsters, and we definitely wouldn’t lie about the sacrificial slabs!”

“If it’s any comfort, I asked double confirmation when I was ordered to shoot him,” Throk offered awkwardly.

“Why are you trying to help?” Ezor asked suspiciously, either having gotten the last of the metallic taste from her mouth or having given up on her efforts.

“Making enemies got me strapped to a table in Haggar’s lab,” Throk said, “And my current superiors happen to be on the same side as yours, which is to say, against Haggar.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, huh?” Ezor chuckled.

“We are not friends,” Throk scoffed, and all conversation stopped as a brilliant flash of white filled the temple.

As the light died, Karkat’s caped silhouette was seen hovering above the platform with wings fluttering too fast for their shape to be defined, and he floated down to the steps beside the slab. Still upon the slab was his dead mortal husk.

“Hey, Karkat!” Jade waved happily, “How are you feeling?”

Karkat stretched, looking more like he had gone for a brisk jog in the morning than literally had his chest blown out with a blaster and ascended to godhood, and said, “Damn, this feels good. Now wonder Egbert goes on about it!”

“Um, what do we do about the body?” Ezor asked, looking behind him at his corpse.

“That? I dunno, burn it,” Karkat shrugged, “Destroy it before Gamzee busts in and starts using my decapitated head for a puppet.”

“What.”

“He’s an old friend of Karkat’s,” Jade explained, “After some shenanigans – “

“He killed two of my friends while another friend killed one and tried killing two more, ultimately also getting his own stupid ass killed,” Karkat interjected, numbering off bodies with his fingers, and Jade elbowed him in the ribs, continuing,

“He kind of went insane and apparently began messing with the dead bodies.”

“I…” Throk grimaced with disgust and confusion, “Wow, you have far worse friends than I ever did.”


End file.
